Living alone, I often wonder what to do with all the delicious leftovers I have. I hate eating the same thing for days, so when I've run out of people to pawn off my baking on, I'm usually weary that my goods will go to waste. I've been doing a lot of cooking lately, and my fridge was rapidly running out of room when I was suddenly struck with an idea. In an effort to clear some space on my counters (I've been reorganizing and rearranging my apartment this past week), I decided to bake some banana bread. Normally, I'm what you might call a banana bread purist. I don't do nuts. Chocolate chips in banana bread make me cringe. I scoff at the idea of oats or bran corrupting the sweet flavor and the unadulterated soft yet dense texture of my banana loaf (just ask my mother, she's tried to sneak it in for years). However, when I opened my fridge to get butter for my second slice, it was like the culinary muses smacked me upon the head for my stubborn, narrow-minded eating habits and opened my eyes to the perfect topping for my precious snack: there in front of my eyes was the bowl of honey mascarpone mousse from my adventure in raspberry vanilla dobos earlier in the week. I was hesistant to try it at first, afraid that the textures might not marry or that one flavor would overwhelm the other. Boy, was I wrong! It was like the two were destined to meet. The flavors blended in such sweet (no pun intended) harmony that the individual tastes were nearly indistinguishable and my tongue could only recognize that it was encountering a tiny taste of sublimity.